The Arizona sentinel., 1887-02-05
GOOD OLD SMOKE.
A Charming Little Story of General Gus
 ter's Last Tragic March,

NOO6 S-D OhOfN-'
 A Charming Little Story of General Gus. ter's Last Tragic March,
 When you hear this story you will see
 how appropriate his name is. The
 small, well-built terrier lying there, on
 the Turkish rug, in spot of sunlight
 that brings out the silver in his dark
 hair beautifully, and makes the parting
 on his head like a fine line of silk.
 Smoke, old boy, look up. Where did you come from? Who are you, Smoke? Do you remember the captain whistle? An! good old fellow, good dog; of course you do! There now, lie down again and shut your eyes while tell the young people your story, and how you got your name.
 General Custer had started forth on that last tragic march of his. Smoke S mistress, the wife of General TerIy's aide-de-camp, has just been telling me of the strange, sad morning when she and some other ladies of the camp stood and watched the line of men going cut. Iut SOuilu OI lllC Dlttl Oh III et peculiar, pitiful wild music from the In- dian scouts who headed the little army. They were singing their "death s0ng," with which they always go to battle, and it must be heard to be appreciated, so weird and strange and wild it is, and while the scouts, with their vari-colored flags flying, ride by, grooming, chanting, singing, one can fancy d plain, darkened by cOntending enemies, death riding fiercely and cruelty, victor, here and there, contending grimly with life on every side. All you who have read the story know that Custer and his forces, contrary to first arrangements, pushed on and met the Indians at Big Horn meeting slaughter as well. The battle, nearly all of whose records the grave holds in it's grasp of eternal secrecy, was fought, and two days later Gen eral Terrys troop, marching down upon the valley, found only the dead emblems of the fight. There lay their dead comrades silent and alone, not a creature to be seen far or near, but away in the distance a shadowy outline marks the. vanishing Indian forces. Captain G., General TerTy's aid de-camp, was one of those who marked the dead and gave them burial with all the means of identification possible, and it was while he was engaged in this sad occupation, that looking up he beheld near him a small dog-fierce in expression for a terrIer, not supplicating or wistful exactly, but bright-eyed and angry. The Captain would have caress- ed the little creature, but it trotted away. He was followed to one of the Indian tents where stark and cold lay the dogs master-an Indian who had crawled there to die.
 It was impossible then to coax the dog into any show of friendliness, but late in the day the Captain saw him again approaching-this time the eyes had lost their ferceness-they were subdued into something pitiful and pleading, as disregarding the other off cers the little dog ran up to his first friend and held out his paw. Then the Captain discovered that cactus thorn had been i'm bedded in it, and the dog with quick in- stinct had sought him to procure relief. The thorn and all the prejudice were removed together. There was no further question of conciliation, The Captain adopted the dog then and there and sent him home to his wife, who, because of the fires he had come out of on the field of battle, christened him
 Smoke"
 So you see Smoke is a sort of hero now in his Western home, and is en- toying an old age of comfort and honor, although the details of his career before that day of battle never can be known. He is pure-blooded Scotch terrier, quick, alert and sagacious, with one peculiarity. Nothing will induce him to make friends with strangers. Loyal and devoted to his mistress and her immediate family-dignified and tolerant of outsiders, yet he is under no circumstances to be beguiled into demonstrations of any sort away from home, and at the sug- gestion even of caress from a stran- gers hand will rise from his recum- bent posture, give himself little shake and in the most dignified manner stalk away, leaving you with sense of your own impertinence in having attempted any thing like intimacy with so ex- elusive canine sovereign. Do you hear all this Smoke, old boy? An! there. you are ready enough to get up and wag your old tail and run to the win dow, for Dorotha and Marguerite are calling to you. Dorotha's eyes are eager, her little golden rings of hair dancing in the breeze, and 1 am sure Smoke realizes that she too is "a Child of the Regiment. "-Lucy c. Lillie, in Chicago Inter- OceGn.
 "A bird cape suddenly fell on the